Perfect Obsession
by Gimme-Chan
Summary: Set in my Protege AU. Breakdown loves the perfection that is Knock Out, casting brief thoughts back on how he use to be a Wrecker and evetually turned Decepticon. Kind of dark since it details his obession with KO.


I'm clearly not working on what I should be. He he.

Anyway, this is a drabble from my Protégé AU. All from Breakdown's POV. Its kind of a super condensed, glossed over version of what happened between himself and Knock Out that lead to him turning Decepticon and becoming Knock Out's assistant/partner/body guard/sex slave/best friend.

**Warnings:** Dark fic. Slash, mech on mech, unnamed character death, lots of twisted/warped mindedness

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Large hands glided carefully down impossibly smooth plating, feeling the charge of overload building beneath them.

Never before in his life had he been able to touch perfection like this. He reveled in it. The gift, the privilege that was denied to so many others but had been miraculously granted to him.

The honor.

Not many vorns ago he'd thought perfection to be an intangible concept. A word used to describe a goal, something that could never truly be achieved, simply sought after. A perception or ideal that one held in their minds eye, ever reaching for, ever chasing, but not something that could take actual solid form.

He had been wrong.

So delightfully wrong.

Perfection was indeed tangible.

It consisted of ornate flares on the helm which guarded a face that could only have been sculpted by an artist's hand. The glossy swell of shoulders that tapered to thin arms, wrists, and hands, all so delicate in their appearance. A true deception, he knew personally of their hidden strength, their danger. Graceful and optic catching one moment, violently digging into seams and pulling plating from his frame the next; and he still leaned into the touch, craved it through the pain. Pain that faded to meaninglessness at the sight of perfection's pleasure.

The rounding sweep of chest plating and rib struts, the compact plating that kissed together in an intricate pattern to create a smooth line that always lead his hands to the tuck of a slim waist. Perfect in appearance, perfectly symmetrical, perfect in size, perfect for his hands to grasp and hold.

Then there was the light flare of hips, whose flash of bright color and hypnotic sway had brought his knees to meet the floor on far more than one occasion. Pale lean thighs with sensitive seams, the hidden utopia tucked between their graceful length. Sought after treasures he eagerly worshipped with hands and mouth and any other part of himself that so pleased their keeper.

The pointed burst of knee guards, detailed, beautifully decorative in their appearance. The elongated flared bell of lower legs. An elegant layer of overlapping plates that narrowed and darkened to a tastefully delicate foot.

Yes. Perfection was indeed tangible.

And it had chosen him.

Had followed him. Sought him out when he stood alone from the others. Whispered to him his own name from the shadows. Encouraged him close. And one night, snared him with something as innocent as a kiss.

Sweet, sweet nectar.

He drank greedily from the source. Drunk himself on it. Wanted to feel it course through his lines, harder and deeper than any drug could ever travel. Have it fuse and mix with his very essence.

He had walked away altered.

And that was only the first time.

Each time after that...was worse.

Perfection offering itself up to him each battle in some secluded alcove. And each battle he took the offer. Eager to please, desperate to taste, to touch, to feel the slide of heated plating against his own, to induce those sweet sounds that would echo off the walls of abandoned buildings, to drown himself in an intimacy that saturated him to his very core.

Then they'd part. Each going back to his own.

It never took long for the craving to set in, he couldn't control it, couldn't ignore it. It burned through him like fire. He longed for battle when these brief times of peace should have made him happy.

But he was no longer happy. Not when he was away from that blissful perfection that wore a different emblem.

He broke down, he begged, and they started to meet in secret when peace filled the gaps between battles. But even then there were long periods neither could get away.

Unable to have who he really wanted, he indulged in the lesser mechs around him to starve off the ever intensifying craving that crawled under his plating.

It failed miserably.

Each attempt left him more disgusted than the last. Not at himself, but them. They all started to disgust him. He didn't like talking to them anymore. Let alone look at them. They were all walking barriers, barricades specifically designed to stop him from getting to who he wanted…no….who he needed.

Disgust gradually grew into anger.

Anger blossomed into hate.

He hated them.

He didn't realize how much till one of his own followed him and actually dared to attack the only one that mattered to him on all of Cybertron. He reacted on pure instinct. His gun taking aim and firing without any thought or concern for it's target.

The drop of a body. Not much left where the head had been.

Didn't matter.

The only one that did matter was safe.

Before any thoughts could fully form about the repercussions his actions had just bought him, glossy red perfection filled his vision.

A smile.

Just for him.

Then the press of perfect lips against his own, rewarding, offering up their sweetness, which he eagerly accepted. He was given lavish touches and a flow of soft spoken praise. It filled him, soothed him as nothing else could. He wrapped his arms tightly around that lithe frame, chest plates pressing together, his face buried in the crook of a shoulder. All the while that sultry voice poured over him, as thick and as warm as oil, making him shiver with want.

If this was his reward for killing a mech, he'd gladly do it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He didn't return to his own this time. He didn't belong there anymore. He followed the only one that mattered into the shadows, submitting willingly to the darkness.

Nothing else mattered.

And now, vorns later, he still worshipped that perfection. Did everything he could to please. To earn that smile. The reward of touch, kiss, interface.

Their panting filled the quiet of the room, systems still running hot. He clung to the curvy frame beneath him, euphoric pleasure still strumming through him in tingling waves from the last overload. He caressed down the swell a shoulder, nuzzling against an audial.

"You are beautiful. You are perfect. You are everything. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

The words weren't meant to be flowery. They weren't spoken to flatter or gain him favor. They were the truth, spoken raw and honestly.

And Knock Out deserved every syllable.

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Author's notes -

Breakdown doesn't have his hammer yet. That's a gift from Knock Out.  
I'm slowly getting more and more written in this AU. I actually have 2 AU's of how Breakdown and Knock Out got together. Protege AU is the darker version and my favorite. The lighter would be the Touch and Go AU. I'm sure I'll continue to dabble in both.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always loved and enjoyed! :)


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